Folly of open-door policy was laid bare

Our naked intruder opened the hall door and scarpered down the pathway like a bat out of hell

BEING a hot-blooded woman, the sight of a naked man reclining on a bed nearly always sets my pulse racing. On one occasion, however, I screamed. In fairness, I hadn’t a clue who the hell he was.

It was a sleepy Saturday morning, and I was in my home office in suburban Westport, attired in my fluffy pink dressing gown and Mickey Mouse slippers, about to finish an article. As was my habit, still half asleep, I trundled into the office, turned on my computer and headed to the kitchen to brew a big pot of coffee.

I returned, sat down and, as I took my first sip, I spied from the corner of my right eye a naked form on the single bed, saved for guests — usually of the invited variety — at the far end of the room. There was a gentle snore emanating from a blond head and,